


Slow to Learn

by iwaizumemes (skytramp)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Multiple, character injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skytramp/pseuds/iwaizumemes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> “I run an organization known as Karasuno-kai. We offer… protection for local businesses, and our community. We keep things safe, and we need good people to keep those people safe.”</p>
  <p>She knew then that he was Yakuza, but if she was being honest she knew as soon as she saw his expensive polished shoes.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. somehow by the way that she moves

**Author's Note:**

> The first 6 Chapters of this are reposts of fics I had posted individually. I realized that the story I was telling was more involved and intertwined than I originally thought, and because the series needed to be read in order, I figured making it a chapter fic made more sense. 
> 
> Chapters are chronological, and everything will come together, eventually.

“Will you stop fucking my friends?” Ryuu would always whine, “Please, sis, they’re getting obnoxious.” And Saeko would always laugh, she’d laugh and punch him hard in the arm, hard enough that he’d usually wince. 

“It’s not my fault that your friends are hot and I’m horny.” Was usually her response and the rest of the conversation would be groans and mumbles from her little brother. 

She always remembered those conversations at the most inopportune times. She’d remember them when she hit someone, hear his words in the thick smack of her fist against muscle. She’d remember those stupid conversations with Ryuu whenever she saw a little boy, someone’s brother, some street urchin picking pockets, they all were Ryuu. 

Mostly she’d remember those conversations at times like this: times when someone was squirming beneath her, panting and groaning and sighing her name. Within the Karasuno-kai there was only so much good tail, and she’d found her way to most of the gang’s beds over the last seven years. They had all been Ryuu’s friends just as they were hers. 

Karasuno-kai was a gang, true, they were the most notable Yakuza clan out of Miyagi, but they were a family, too. And since Ryuu was gone, they were the only family she had left. 

The man beneath her squirmed and bucked up, twisting his hips in order to roll them over. Nishinoya was always a fun time. Their fucks were like wrestling matches: always hot, sweaty and ultimately a battle for dominance. Saeko normally won. 

She’d known him since he was little more than a street urchin himself, just some punk spray painting signs and picking pockets of tourists. It had been Ryuu who brought him to Karasuno-kai the first time, brought him into the family and taught him his trade. Noya was one of their best enforcers now, only really behind herself and that pitiless, taciturn Tsukishima, and the nights that their games of oicho-kabu turned into romps in the mattress were always some of Saeko’s best. 

Three quick raps at Noya’s door brought the action to a stop but Saeko still straddled him. His cock was still hard inside her as the punk responded. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He yelled at the closed door. The door opened and Azumane stood there. His long hair was down around his face, hiding the edges of a tattoo that Saeko knew peeked above his starched white collar. The man nearly blushed at the sight before him and would have slammed the door shut if Saeko hadn’t called out.

“Azumane-kun, don’t be embarrassed. Not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.” She said with a laugh, but she pulled away from Nishinoya and sat on her knees beside him. She was still naked, save for the thin sheet she pulled over her waist, but that didn’t bother her.

“Now, Asahi, what the fuck do you want?” Noya said, sounding exasperated. 

“Actually I didn’t come here for you.” His voice always seemed strange to Saeko, too soft, too gentle for the broad shouldered gang member that Azumane was. “Oyabun has requested Saeko-Neesan’s presence and, well, a few guys from the oicho-kabu game said they thought they saw you two together.” He looked embarrassed again and pushed the hair out of his face with a large hand.

Saeko hopped up quickly, snatching her underwear from the floor and shimmying into it before Azumane could retreat. He shut the door with a slam and Nishinoya chuckled.

“You like fucking with him, don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do, the more I tease him the more fun he is when he actually gets around to letting me near him.” She laughed again and pulled on her pants, and lastly her black sports bra. It was the only shirt she’d been wearing that night. 

Games of oicho-kabu almost always had two purposes: gambling and showing off. A big part of showing off was their tattoos, large and elaborate works of art that covered most of their bodies, but that they had to hide from the rest of Japan, lest they reveal their identities. Games within the Karasuno-kai compound were some of the only times they got to show off, and the twisting scales of the fire dragon that crossed over her chest and down her ribs looked too good to be hidden behind demure cotton. 

Saeko always wore jeans and her sports bra during games, Nishinoya opted for no shirt and even Azumane would unbutton his shirt to at least his sternum. The most modest was always Tsukishima, he would open precisely two pearl-sheened buttons of his impeccably pressed shirt, only just enough for Saeko to get a peek at what looked to be green scales that covered his chest. That guy was someone she’d never understand. Truthfully she didn’t know why a guy like that was yakuza to begin with, he looked high class, not like the street crows most of the gang was, but the Oyabun had accepted him without hesitation and no one questioned the Oyabun’s judgement. 

Saeko half jogged to the door, flinging a wave at Noya and laughing at his groan when she left. “Sorry, baby boy, you’ll have to take care of yourself tonight.” She said under her breath as she walked quickly towards the Oyabun’s chambers. 

There was a large white door at the end of the hallway, flanked by a guard on either side, that led to the private chambers of Karasuno-kai’s leader. As Saeko approached she waved at the guards. 

“Yachi-chan! Kageyama-kun! Azumane-kun said the Oyabun sent for me, can I go in?” She flipped her hand towards the large door impatiently.  
Kageyama only nodded. That boy was nearly as quiet as Tsukishima when he wasn’t on a job. But Yachi nodded quickly.

“Of course, Saeko-neesan! We’ve been expecting you, Azumane-san left quite a while ago, he must have had trouble finding you!” The girl was smiling and once again Saeko found herself wondering what the Oyabun had seen in this tiny bouncy creature before she’d joined Karasuno-kai. 

Yachi was one of the only recent recruits to have been brought in by the Oyabun personally, and she’d proven herself to be deceptively dangerous, a quick hand at poison and one of their go-to members for interrogation. She didn’t look like it now, but Saeko knew Yachi was a terror to behold with a knife in her hand.

The large white doors opened and Saeko walked through into the mostly dark chamber. There was a small lamp on the far side of the large room that lit the ceremonial chair the Oyabun used to greet guests, or to administer punishment. The chair was empty now, the whole room empty, and only the opened door in the back corner gave Saeko a hint as to where she was wanted. 

She wasn’t surprised, it was almost midnight and no official business would be conducted at that time. She didn’t know why the Oyabun had sent Azumane though, normally Saeko would just receive a phone call, or a note on her pillow, rarely did she get a personal messenger. 

She approached the door, pushing it open slowly and peered inside. The room was large and richly furnished. In the half-light of a covered lamp she could see the large bed in the center of the room, its black sheets blended into the darkness sharply contrasting with the pale figure laying atop them. 

Saeko’s breath hitched in her throat. She never tired of seeing that lithe body: the shapely legs, longer than hers though less muscular, the thin waist, the small perfect breasts. She was naked on the bed, her dark hair blended into the pillows and she didn’t rise when Saeko entered. 

“Shimizu-sama.” Saeko said quietly and bowed deeply. “You asked for me?”

The woman on the bed sat up, propping her hands behind her for support, and crossed her legs. “Saeko-chan I told you to stop calling me that when we’re alone.” The woman smiled and pulled the glasses from her face, setting them on the nightstand which she could barely reach. When she looked back at Saeko she patted the bed beside her. 

Saeko crossed the room in a few quick strides until she was standing at the edge of the huge bed. “Saeko-chan, do I have to beg you?” Kiyoko's voice was sweet and teasing and Saeko knew it was an act, a way to elicit a favorable response, and she fell for it every time.

“It wouldn’t hurt, Kiyoko. You know I’m a sucker for being begged.” She kicked off her pants and underwear, yanked the sports bra off her chest, and crawled up into the plush sheets.

“Well, Saeko-chan, please, will you please fuck me?” Kiyoko’s voice was cloyingly sweet, and she pulled Saeko close to bring their mouths together. Their kisses always began like this. They were sweet and soft, all the things Kiyoko played at being until they became frantic, passionate and downright dangerous, some of the things that Kiyoko really was. 

You don’t become Oyabun of a yakuza clan as large as Karasuno-kai as a woman, let alone as a woman in your twenties with no familial connection, without being dangerous. 

Saeko was pushed on to her back roughly and she sighed into Kiyoko’s mouth as the woman straddled her. It was always a shocking change of pace when she was with Kiyoko. Saeko was dominant, strong, and, above all else, she was on top when she fucked. That is, with everyone except Kiyoko. 

It’s true the woman on top of her was taller, but she wasn’t stronger, and their sex wasn’t a wrestling match like it was with Nishinoya, it wasn’t the quick, shame-filled fucks she got from Kageyama or Sawamura and it wasn’t the giggly, precocious romps she’d had with Yachi. Sex with Kiyoko was all encompassing. It was passionate and beautiful and the whole thing made Saeko want to cry. 

Kiyoko’s hand was between them now, her fingers moving on Saeko as her hips slid against the back of her hand. Kiyoko moved silently, her mouth was open but even her breath made no audible noise and Saeko bit down on her own hand to keep herself quiet as long as possible.

She wanted to hear Kiyoko scream. She wanted her to cry out her name and sob into her chest. She wanted her to come so hard she would break. That was always Saeko’s goal but the woman was unbreakable. She was an ice queen, stoic and silent even while shaking from orgasm. 

Saeko was going to try anyways. She lifted her hand, bringing her fingers against Kiyoko’s clit and rubbing in quick circles. The woman’s hips moved faster now, as did her own fingers against Saeko. They were grinding together, and Saeko couldn't keep silent any longer.

“Fuck, god fucking damn it, Kiyoko I’m gonna come, don’t stop.” The words ran together in such a way they were hardly distinguishable from a long moan but Kiyoko heeded her words and didn't stop. Her fingers increased their pace rubbing quick and hard against Saeko until her hips bucked up. Both of her hands clutched at Kiyoko’s hips and she came with a wordless cry and was limp against the bed. 

Kiyoko leaned down and buried her face in Saeko’s neck. “Your job’s not done yet, Saeko-chan.” She said as she took Saeko’s hand gently from the sheet and placed it between her legs. Saeko could feel how wet she was, and her twitching muscles meant she was close as well, even if her face showed no sign. Saeko took a deep breath and moved her fingers against Kiyoko again. The woman bucked her hips against Saeko’s hand, increasing the friction, and only a few seconds later her back arched and her head flung back as her orgasm shook her. 

It was eery how quiet she was. How quiet she always was, but the muscles in her thighs were twitching and she collapsed against Saeko’s chest, just like all the times before. Saeko stroked Kiyoko’s dark hair with the hand that wasn’t trapped between their bodies and she heard the woman make a contented noise in her throat at the sensation. 

“I love you, Saeko-chan, I never come like that with anyone else.” She said into Saeko’s neck.

“I love you too, Kiyoko, god knows you fuck better than anyone in this hell hole.” Her nose crinkled a little and she laughed, her chest shaking with it. 

“Hey, that’s my hell hole you’re talking about.” She didn't have the energy to sound offended, and Saeko knew she really wouldn't be anyways.

“I know, sweetie, I didn't say that I don’t enjoy the burn.”


	2. end up being quite permanent

She shifted on her feet and put her hands in the pockets of her jeans. It was a cold morning, early winter’s chill had taken hold of Miyagi and Saeko’s wardrobe of primarily black jeans and leather jackets did little to protect her from the elements.

They were told to get an early start, they had a dozen or so businesses to visit today. Normally the lower ranking members of Karasuno-kai would be the ones who do the standard collecting, it was a simple job afterall, but during the last couple weeks they had had trouble with some of the boys going overboard. 

There had been slightly more police activity around the compound as a result, and even the Oyabun’s mutually beneficial relationship with Detective Ukai Keishin had hardly been enough to keep the cops off their tail. 

So, today it would be Saeko’s job to make sure that the business owners of Miyagi got their protection, and more importantly that they paid for it. However, she wasn’t alone. Saiko komon Sawamura, senior advisor to the Oyabun, had foisted another of the younger enforcers on her, and she would have spend the day enduring derisive glares and murmured insults from Tsukishima Kei. 

After a few more minutes in the cold outside of the compound she saw Tsukishima approach. He was tall, more than a foot taller than Saeko, with blonde hair, glasses, and a scowl that could curdle milk. 

“‘Bout time, pretty boy, I’ve been freezing my tits off out here.” Saeko called when she thought him close enough to hear. His eyebrows narrowed but he said nothing. His white button up shirt was starched stiff and immaculate and he straightened his dark green tie as he approached. 

“Okay, my young protege, we’ve got about a dozen places to hit today, well, fourteen, really. Those other idiots have been fuckin’ up left and right. Too rough, one of ‘em actually killed a guy, so we’re going for mellow today.” She looked up at him. She didn’t really think she needed to tell this block of ice to be mellow, but you never know. “So, let’s do a one-two punch. I’ll do the talking, you just look scary and tall.” She smiled at him and he didn’t react. “Yeah, pretty boy, exactly like that, you’re doing great already.”

She walked towards her car. It was black and sleek, a newer model high end sedan that spoke of power and influence and shitty gas mileage due to the power under the hood. She hit the remote lock button with her thumb and the horn honked in response before she pulled open the driver’s side door. Tsukishima went to the passenger side and followed without complaint. 

As Saeko settled into her seat, buckling up and double checking her mirrors she heard a grunt from her partner. Tsukishima was doubled over, knees nearly against his chest and digging into the dashboard as he struggled to find the lever to move the seat back. Saeko couldn’t help but laugh. Yachi had been the last person in her passenger seat, she remembered, and Yachi was quite possibly the only member of Karasuno-kai shorter than Saeko herself. 

Tsukishima just glared over at her as she laughed and reached for the buttons that automatically moved the seats, holding it down until the seat was as far back as it could go and he was able to stretch out his long legs. 

They drove away from the sprawling Karasuno-kai compound and towards the heart of the city. It had been a while since Saeko had done the rough footwork of the lower level enforcers and she was anxious, almost bouncing in her seat as she drove. She hoped that they wouldn’t need to do anything more than ask politely for the tithe they were due but the pair of brass knuckles in her pocket were there just in case. 

They drove in silence and soon reached a street where about half of their assignments for the day were located. Saeko parked the car against the curb and got out.

“Okay, Tsukishima-kun, let’s go to the deli first. The old man there normally doesn’t cause us any problems.” He nodded and followed her as she set off down the street. She didn’t bother to lock the car, despite it’s high-end looks. Anyone who was stupid enough to jack Tanaka Saeko’s car deserved a few minutes in luxury before she knocked their teeth out.

The bell chimed on the door as she pushed it open and strode inside. The person behind the deli counter was young, probably a teenager, and looked scared at their sudden appearance.

“Hey, kid, is the owner around? I’d like to speak with him.” Saeko said as politely as she could manage. Tsukishima stood behind her, looking faintly bored, with his arms crossed over his chest. The kid behind the counter nodded and bowed, but only a faint squeak came out when he tried to speak. He hustled towards a door that led to the back room. 

A few minutes passed with no sign of either the kid or the old man who Saeko expected. She looked around the empty Deli. Everything seemed normal. They were alone, which wasn’t unusual given how early it was in the day, the sign on the door said open, yes, everything was normal. Still she felt a prickle of suspicion raise the hairs on her neck as the minutes ticked by. 

It had been five minutes and Saeko was just about to yell towards the back room when the owner emerged. He was stooped, maybe older than she remembered, and wearing an apron.

She bowed slightly towards the man. “Hello, sir. We are representatives of--”

“I know who you are.” The man interrupted her but said no more.

“Then you also know why we’re here.” Her look was cold. If the man did not feel like being polite, neither would she.  
The old man sighed and walked towards the register. She looked away, out the large shop windows, as the register clicked open and she felt a large hand push her to the floor. She was about to jump to her feet and yell obscenities at Tsukishima when she heard the gunshot, followed by a long, keening cry that split the silence. Her partner was crouched over her, shielding most of her body with his own, and his gun was drawn. 

Tsukishima stood and holstered his gun beneath the fabric of his shirt. When she stood she could see the Deli owner on the ground behind the counter, clutching his wrist. There was a gun a foot from his hand. 

Saeko vaulted the counter skillfully and stood over the man on the ground. She kicked his gun farther out of reach before pulling the brass knuckles from her pocket and sliding them on to her fingers. 

“What the fuck was that, old man? You want to get yourself killed over a little bit of cash?!” She yelled. She nudged his wrist, seemingly shattered by Tsukishima’s bullet, with the toe of her boot and the man screamed. She turned to the register, pulled precisely the amount that they were owed from the drawer and shut it with a soft click. She pocketed the money, leapt the counter again and walked out of the deli, flipping the sign to “closed” as she passed it. Tsukishima followed her outside in silence. 

She was angry. She kept walking, quickly, down the street. What had that old man been thinking? Even if he’d killed them, more would just come, and that would be if he managed to shoot them both without immediate reciprocation. He hadn’t even managed to get off one shot, though, she reflected. She stopped suddenly and spun around to face the trailing Tsukishima. 

She thought he almost looked shocked by her sudden confrontation, or at least mildly surprised. 

“Hey. How did you know he had a gun?” She asked.

He shrugged and looked away. 

“Hey, fuck-wad, I’m asking you a question. You saved my life back there and I want to know _how did you know he had a gun?_ ” She stepped forward and prodded his chest with her finger as she spoke and he did not react.

After a few seconds of silence he finally spoke.

“I didn’t.” The look of shock on her face must have been apparent because he continued. “He looked suspicious. I’ve,” He paused and looked back at her. “I’ve seen that look before, and last time I wasn’t fast enough.” 

She backed up a few steps and looked away. He had looked so sad, just then, and she began to wonder if maybe he had a real heart afterall, somewhere beneath the icy shell he kept so tight around him. He hadn’t just looked sad, he had looked...vulnerable. And something about that vulnerability tugged at her chest in that painful way that happened whenever something or someone reminded her of Ryuu. 

She turned her back to him before she spoke. 

“Who was it?” She said quietly. “Who did you lose?”

He was silent so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer, but when his voice came it was low and angry. 

“My brother. Akiteru.” The breath flew from her chest in a whoosh that almost sent her to her knees. His brother. His brother had died. Died by a gunshot, no less. 

She turned again to face him, willing her knees not to shake.

“Thank you, Tsukishima-kun, for saving me.” She bowed low to the tall man in front of her. When she straightened she saw a faint flush on his cheeks as he nodded.

“You’re welcome, Saeko-neesan.”


	3. she's sinking to the bottom

Hinata approached the formal chair at the head of a long room. He looked nervous, shaking and pale and his legs could hardly hold him. His red hair was bright, a flame in the darkened room, and Sawamura Daichi focused his eyes on that hair to avoid the haunted look in the young man’s eyes. 

Daichi stood at the right hand of the Oyabun, Shimizu Kiyoko. He was her saiko komon, senior advisor, and he knew it was his duty to be there as the man faced his punishment, even if the thought made him sick to his stomach. 

“Shimizu-sama.” Hinata croaked as he sunk to his knees and bowed his head low. 

“Hinata-kun. Do you know why you come to me, today?” Kiyoko’s voice was cold. 

“Yes, Oyabun.” 

“Tell me of your transgressions.” 

Daichi saw him begin to shake almost fitfully at the simple request. He was still on his knees and his eyes looked at the floor beneath the Oyabun’s chair. Kiyoko pushed her glasses farther up on her nose as she looked down at the man on the floor.

“Hinata-kun. Tell me of your transgressions.” She repeated.

His voice was barely a whisper. 

“I kill-- I killed that man. The shopkeeper. I-- I shot him.” He continued, slightly louder. “I didn’t mean to---”

Kiyoko raised her hand and he fell silent. 

“How will you atone, Hinata-kun? How will you fix the problem you have caused for your family, for Karasuno-kai?” She did not lift her eyes from Hinata and Daichi knew that glare was piercing and painful, like ice on your skin. 

He pulled a small knife from his pocket with a shaking hand as Sugawara, the so-honbucho, or headquarters chief, of Karasuno-kai brought a small table to sit in front of him. 

The room was silent except for the chattering of Hinata’s teeth and the occasional bump as the handle of the knife hit the wooden table. He spread his left hand on the table and his fingers splayed against the dark wood. His right held the knife that gleamed dully in the dim light. 

Daichi looked away from Hinata, looking at the profile of the Oyabun instead. He heard the swift intake of breath followed by the thunk of metal hitting wood and a muffled whimper. Kiyoko’s eyes never moved. She did not flinch. 

____

They sat in what was officially known as their conference room, but Kiyoko thought it not much more than a place for her to speak with her two highest advisors. The room was dim, like much of the compound, and the brightest thing in the room was the pale glow of Sugawara’s hair as he sat straight in his chair. 

“Oyabun, I wish you would have allowed my intervention in today’s yubitsume.” Sugawara was saying for what must have been the twelfth time since this morning. 

“No, Sugawara-san. I could not allow it. Soon you will have no fingers left if you keep taking responsibility for others’ mistakes.” She struggled to keep her voice calm. “Besides, it was only his first penance. He will recover. It was a small payment for such a monumental mistake.” 

Sugawara nodded dutifully and she noticed Sawamura eyeing the man’s hands on the table. Four of his fingers were missing the last joint, and both his pinkies were mere stumps, ending at the first knuckle. Kiyoko did not understand how Sugawara ever became Yakuza with his soft heart, but she did not doubt his loyalty, or his wisdom as her advisor. 

“Shimizu-sama is right, Suga-san.” Sawamura reached across the table to grip Sugawara’s hands. “Hinata-kun needed this reminder. As much as it pained me to see it, he needs to take his job more seriously or it may be himself he gets killed next time, or Kageyama-kun, or anyone else working with him. The boy needs to understand the reality of his situation.” His voice was deep and smooth but Kiyoko could hear the pain beneath it. He was nearly as soft-hearted as Sugawara, even if he did not show it, she thought.

Hinata Shouyou should never have been allowed to join Karasuno-kai. He was too excitable, too hyperactive and most of all too sweet. Kiyoko grimaced. Hinata should have been an upstanding citizen, a productive member of society, not a low level gang member holding up shops for protection money, and Kiyoko’s guilt weighed on her for that fact. No, she hadn’t brought him in personally, he’d come on his own, following Kageyama, but every time she caught sight of his still innocent smile she remembered her own past like a knife to the gut.

It felt like decades ago, centuries even, when she was young and stupid and profoundly innocent. 

She was eighteen and it was spring and she had just gotten out of school for good. She could have gone to college but she never wanted to. Her parents didn’t seem to care either way, not even when she told them she was moving out after graduation and in with her girlfriend Michimiya Yui. 

Yui was sweet, passionate, driven and incredibly gorgeous, Kiyoko always thought, and when they’d finally gotten together after Yui quit the volleyball club at the end of her third year to focus on her studies, Kiyoko had never been happier in her life. 

They spent all their time together, the last few months of school were hard, with final exams breathing down their throats, but Kiyoko just managed to pass despite her distraction, and Yui passed with no problems, saying Kiyoko’s presence made her more focused rather than less. 

It was a night, about three weeks after graduation and two weeks into their cohabitation, that things changed in Kiyoko’s life. 

Yui and her had been out to dinner, joking and laughing when a man approached them on the street. He was haggard, wearing layers of clothing that were hardly more than rags, and when he got close enough Kiyoko could smell the mixture of body odor and alcohol leaking from his pores. 

Yui had grabbed her around the waist, steering them sideways in an attempt to sidestep the man blocking the sidewalk. He moved with surprising grace as he jumped in front of them again. He was silent, only breathing heavily, and he didn’t demand their wallets or even try to touch them at first. 

“What do you want?” Yui had demanded from him. And he just laughed. Kiyoko still felt that laugh deep in her gut. 

Before they could react Yui had screamed and Kiyoko saw the red-slick knife in the man’s hand before he turned and ran. 

The next few weeks were a blur.

First the hospital, the bright antiseptic lights and strong chemical smells, the whimpers of pain coming from Yui as the doctor’s examined the stab wound in her abdomen, surgery, and then more surgery when the first one missed a knick in her liver. Kiyoko hadn’t slept. She sat in the waiting room when she could not sit by Yui’s bedside. She ate meals from the vending machines, not even daring to venture as far as the cafeteria. 

It was two days before Yui was cleared to go home. She was to remain on bedrest for as long as it took for the wound to heal. Kiyoko nursed her back to health, she fed her, bathed her and held her when Yui could bear to be held. 

She had nightmares, terrible thrashing and screaming visions that would have woken Kiyoko in the night if her own fears weren’t already keeping her awake. Kiyoko would hold her, smooth her hair, wake her gently and tell her everything was alright, that she was safe. Kiyoko still didn’t sleep. 

After two weeks the doctors told Yui she could leave the house. She went back to her part time job at a local recreation center where she coached kids volleyball and Kiyoko was happy. She was as happy as she could be when most of her day was spent alternating between debilitating fear and overwhelming rage at the man who had hurt Yui. 

She still couldn’t sleep. She would nod off occasionally, stealing forty minutes here or there, but she was never rested. She went to work, cashiering at a local grocery store, and she gulped down coffee by the gallon. Soon her hands shook so much she could hardly hold a pen.

She started to see the man. She saw him in the store at work, on the street, behind her eyelids in the brief moments she let them close. None of those people were really him, of course, but soon she was certain she was losing her wits completely. 

One day at work the hallucination didn’t fade. The man looked different, slightly, maybe a little cleaner, a different coat over his ragged clothes, but he was there. He was really there and Kiyoko felt her rage bubble over. 

He left the store and she followed, abandoning her register. She walked a dozen paces behind him as he turned the corner into the alley beside the store. He never looked back and she would never know if he wasn’t aware of her pursuit or he simply didn’t care. 

The alley was long, and the surrounding buildings tall enough to make the early evening light look nearly dark as night. When the man stopped she approached him. He looked mildly surprised as her foot crashed up between his legs. He fell to his knees and she kept kicking. She kicked his face, his chest, his arms. He curled in on himself and she kicked his back, any part of him she could reach. 

He was yelling now, and part of her knew that would bring others but that part was small and distant compared the the screaming rage that overpowered her will and compelled her to kick and kick until he stopped screaming, until he stopped moving. 

When he was still her vision finally cleared and she saw a bloody mess on the ground beneath her, her shoe, black and smooth leather, comfortable for working long hours in, was wet, and red splattered the bottom of her khaki uniform pants. She noticed then her hands were no longer shaking. They were steady. And she felt no remorse as she walked quickly out the other side of the alley. 

When she got home she noticed a message from her boss and she called back to apologize for walking out, complained of a sudden sickness, and said she’d be back in a few days. She slept for 20 hours. 

Yui was there when she woke up, looking worried. 

“I couldn’t wake you, I thought I’d have to call an ambulance.” Yui said to her and Kiyoko shook her head and smiled. 

“No, I’m absolutely fine, I’m great. I wasn’t sleeping for weeks but now we’re safe. Now I’m not scared anymore.” She remembered the words wouldn’t stop. She wanted to tell Yui they were safe, wanted her to know that that man couldn’t hurt her anymore. 

Yui held Kiyoko’s blood spattered pants in her hands and Kiyoko noticed the tears in her eyes. 

“What happened, Kiyoko? What did… what happened?” She almost whispered.

“I saw him. I followed him and I made sure he couldn’t hurt you. He’ll never hurt you, Yui.” Kiyoko leaned up to hug her and Yui pushed her back against the pillows. 

“What did you do?” Her voice was louder now, and she sounded scared. 

“I did what I had to to keep you safe.” Kiyoko replied. She had been confused. She didn’t understand Yui’s reaction. 

“Tell me!” She yelled and rose to her feet, unfurling the pants in her hands and showing the brown-red stains on the ankles. “Tell me what you did!”

“I hurt him! He deserved it. I saw him and I followed him and I hurt him. I didn’t think I could do it, I didn’t even have a weapon but I did it and I might have even killed him but it doesn’t matter. He hurt you, Yui. I love you and he hurt you and now he won’t be able to hurt you again, that’s what matters! I did this for you, I did this for us. So we could be safe again!”

Yui flinched then. She stepped back, shaking her head and dropped the pants in her hands. She left the room, and then left the apartment. 

Kiyoko did not follow her. It was three days before Yui had come back and even then she did not listen to Kiyoko’s confused pleading. She only packed a few bags and left again. 

Kiyoko returned to work, and a few more days passed without incident. She worked, she slept, she ate in normal intervals and she called Yui each night before she went to sleep. Her voicemails were always the same: “I miss you. I did it for you. I love you.” and Yui never called her back. 

When a man approached her outside work one evening she wasn’t afraid of him. He was about her height, clean shaven, with a crisp white shirt, tie, and jacket. His shoes were highly polished and he looked immensely wealthy. 

“Shimizu-san.” He greeted and she nodded in response. 

“I have a proposition that I would like you to consider. May we speak privately?” He gestured towards a dark car in the parking lot and she followed without a word. He held the door for her as she climbed into the back seat. He got in the other side and shut the door before speaking again.

“Shimizu-san, it seems we had a mutual acquaintance, that is, before you kicked him to death in an alley a week and a half ago.” He hadn’t smiled or seemed angry, simply as if he was stating facts. 

“Don’t worry, though, we were barely acquainted and I certainly wanted him dead.” Then he had smiled, and his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. “See? You did me a favor, Shimizu-san. And I would like to pay back your generosity. 

“I keep an eye out for… shall we say, _motivated_ individuals. Those who are willing to do what needs to be done, and something tells me you are one of those individuals.”

Kiyoko nodded, showing her understanding. He smiled at her again.

“Good, and quiet too, you’ll do nicely, if you agree.” He seemed to speak to himself. “I run an organization known as Karasuno-kai. We offer… protection for local businesses, and our community. We keep things safe, and we need good people to keep those people safe.” 

She knew then that he was Yakuza, but if she was being honest she knew as soon as she saw his expensive polished shoes. 

“You would like me to join the Yakuza?” She asked.

“Yes, Shimizu-san. That is what I’m offering. I’m offering you a family and the chance to keep our community safe. And better pay than this market can offer you, I’m sure.” He flipped his hand in the direction of the store, as if to dismiss it. 

She considered it briefly and found she had no reason to say no. She accepted his offer on the spot and began her new life. It was two weeks before she realized she hadn’t called Yui, and that she hardly missed her. 

The Small Giant, as the man in the car was known by rivals and allies alike, was saiko-komon, or the senior advisor to the Oyabun, and second in command of the entire gang. She worked with him closely, learning his tricks, training her body and her mind. 

She rose quickly through the ranks. She was smart, quick and ruthless where others hesitated. When the old Oyabun retired and The Small Giant took his place she became his saiko-komon. She brought in people of her own, as well. She found Sawamura and Sugawara managing a lucrative fight club and brought them and their income into the family. Saeko and her kid brother Ryuu were just street punks, poor and desperate but also ambitious and smarter than they seemed. She even brought in little Yachi, innocent looking and incredibly deadly Yachi who was now her best interrogator. 

Three years ago The Small Giant had been nearly killed by infiltrators from a their rival Aobajousai and the damage left his left side paralyzed. No one was shocked when he retired and named Shimizu Kiyoko as his successor. 

Her silent reminiscing had not gone unnoticed by her two advisors.

“Shimizu-sama, are you alright? It’s late, perhaps we should sleep?” Sugawara asked in his soft voice. 

“Yes, Sugawara-san, perhaps we should.”


	4. maybe time will tell in the end

Hinata was shaking in his futon. He could feel a throbbing in his left hand that wouldn’t let up, despite the handful of painkillers he’d swallowed a few hours ago. He couldn’t sleep. Truthfully, he hadn’t slept right in days. 

The man was tall and broadly built. He looked more like a wrestler than a shopkeeper. Hinata could see him lunge forward, he saw the rage in the man’s face, veins bulging in his neck and on his sweat-slick forehead and then he was gone. The man was just a splash. He was a gunshot and an explosion of blood and skull fragments. Hinata didn’t even remember pulling his gun. He didn’t remember firing. The gun had been in his hand, though, when Kageyama pulled him to his feet. The barrel had been hot. His memories were vague and blurry after that. He almost thought he remembered being pulled up into Kageyama’s arms and carried to the car and then being carried, again, from the car to his bed. 

He remembered when Saeko-neesan came to him. She’d been friendly, smiling even, as she asked him what happened. Kageyama must’ve given his report because it had seemed like Saeko-neesan knew twice as many details as Hinata remembered. Next came Sugawara-san and Sawamura-san. They were gentle, as well, but the hardness around Sawamura’s eyes seemed to be a mix between worry and rage. 

It had been two days since the protection job when he was brought before the Oyabun. It was two days of shaking, not sleeping, and hardly eating. He found his legs hardly held him as he approached the head of the room. Shimizu-sama’s eyes were hard, cold, and calculating as they stared him down. He remembered bowing so low that his nose had touched the plush carpet beneath his knees.

The room was full of his family, Karasuno-kai. They surrounded him, standing mostly in the shadows. He could only see the three at the head of the room underneath the dim hanging light. Sugawara-san looked worried, he wrung his hands and offered a soft smile as he caught Hinata’s eyes. Sawamura-san’s face was tense, sharp wrinkles creased his forehead and his hands were knotted fists and his sides. Shimizu-sama simply acted as if he wasn’t there until she addressed him. 

He stopped remembering. The thick bandage over the fingers of his left hand and the pain radiating up his wrist was enough. He didn’t need to think of the dull shine of his knife, the sporadic click of the knife handle against the wooden table as his hand shook. He didn’t need to remember how Sawamura-san had turned his face away, or that Shimizu-sama hadn’t even blinked. 

The table had been whisked away quickly and someone had lifted his left hand above his head to slow the bleeding. He realized later that it was Kageyama. The taller man half-dragged him to Ennoshita’s small room where his wound was bandaged and a small bag of painkillers was shoved into pocket. 

Kageyama hadn’t left him, although Hinata thought he would. He had walked Hinata back to his room, keeping a long arm looped around his waist for stability, and had forced him to get into bed. When he left the room Hinata was certain he wasn’t coming back, until a few minutes later he knocked quickly then entered again with a futon wrapped over his arm. 

Hinata could just barely see the skin of Kageyama’s neck in the dark room. Their futons lay a foot apart; Kageyama’s blanket was pulled up over his shoulders and he lay on his side facing away from Hinata. He wanted to crawl over and bury his face against the nape of Kageyama’s neck but he didn’t think he had the energy.

The man was his partner, his support, and his best friend. They weren’t lovers but sometimes Hinata felt a tug in his chest that suggested part of him wished otherwise. He’d spent the last couple years with Kageyama. They’d worked together, lived together, even, for a while, and when Kageyama had decided to join Karasuno-kai Hinata joined without a second thought. 

Kageyama was silent when he was happy, loud when he was angry, and only truly talkative if they spoke of something inconsequential like sports. Hinata was used to providing most of the conversation, and he found the silence soothing most of the time. Kageyama really was everything Hinata wasn’t and he still didn’t understand why he stuck around. 

Hinata tucked his left hand close to his chest and pulled his blanket as he scooted across the distance to lay behind Kageyama. He curled up on his left side, keeping his hand tucked tight and wrapped his right arm around Kageyama’s waist, pulling the blanket over the both of them. 

He felt Kageyama squirm and shift under his arm. After a few seconds Kageyama rolled over with a soft grunt. Hinata froze as Kageyama’s face aligned just a few inches from his against the pillow.

“Are you okay?” Kageyama’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible.

Hinata nodded at first, and then shook his head. He wasn’t okay. He was in pain and he couldn’t stop thinking about the man he had killed. 

“Okay. What do you need?” Kageyama answered again. This was unusual. Hinata could have almost laughed. Where had this nice, obliging Kageyama been the last couple years? He hadn’t even called him a dumbass since before the protection job more than two days ago. Hinata just shook his head again and tightened his right hand against the middle of Kageyama’s back. Kageyama pulled up his free arm and wrapped it around Hinata, as well, mindful of the bandaged hand between them. 

They laid in silence for a few minutes. Hinata closed his eyes but the images flashing through his brain kept him awake. He soon found tears dripping sideways down his face towards the pillow and he didn’t know Kageyama was awake until a thumb brushed softly at the corner of his eye. 

Hinata stared at him in the near-dark. 

“How do I forget?” His voice was hoarse when he spoke. Kageyama’s hand moved to Hinata’s head and he stroked his hair. 

“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t have to forget. Just think about nicer things.”

The fingers in his hair felt like a nicer thing, and Hinata took a few seconds to savor the sensation. 

“Why are you being so nice, Kageyama?” Hinata wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, he knew he should be grateful for the reprieve but part of him missed the old, angry Kageyama. 

“You’re my partner.” He replied softly. “You’re hurt and-- and I need you, okay?” Kageyama turned his face towards the pillow, as if to hide it, but didn’t pull his hand away from Hinata’s hair. When he spoke again his voice was muffled. “I don’t like it when you’re in pain and I don’t know how to help.”

Hinata almost smiled. He would have jumped for joy if he wasn’t so comfortable. 

“You’re doing enough. You’ve been… you’ve been great, Kageyama. Thank you.” Hinata closed his eyes again and focused on the feel of Kageyama’s fingers in his hair, the taut muscles of Kageyama’s back underneath his hand. Kageyama was a nice distraction, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.


	5. we know just how this story will end

Tsukishima could feel the sweat as it dripped down his chest. Despite the open door, the windowless room where they played Oicho Kabu was always sweltering in the summer months. The group around him seemed more comfortable: Tanaka-san in her tight black sports bra, Nishinoya, who was shirtless, was being actively stopped from taking off his pants by a nervous looking Azumane, who had his shirt unbuttoned to the waist and his long hair loose around his neck.

It was a common thing, playing Oicho Kabu in various states of undress. It was a way to show off, even when the cement floored room was 10 degrees in the winter months they all still did it. Tsukishima had tattoos to show off, as well, like any other Yakuza his chest was mostly covered by a twining green dragon, but he didn’t like to show off. 

He figured out long ago that most of Karasuno-kai thought he was stuck up, a show off, a rude prick who didn’t belong. He didn’t argue them on those points. His shirt was mostly buttoned, closed until just above his sternum where the arching back of the dragon rose just high enough to be seen. No one had ever asked to see the whole thing, to see how it winded down around his hip bones and ended in a breath of green flames that crossed his back. He was a private person, anyways, he didn’t need to show off like the rest of them. 

When Sugawara-san came through the door it took a few seconds for Nishinoya to stop struggling in Azumane’s arms and to settle into their respective chairs. Sugawara-san hadn’t said a word, and Tsukishima had always marveled at the easy authority he could wield. He was standing tall, his crisp white shirt perfectly creased, his tie straight against his chest. He didn’t wear a suit jacket, but aside from that he was the perfect vision of sophistication from his soft light colored hair down to his polished shoes. If it weren’t for the mangled stubs that most of his fingers were, he could have been mistaken for someone on the right side of the law. 

“Tsukishima-kun, I hate to take you from the game but we’d like to speak to you.” Sugawara said, as the room went silent. 

Tsukishima nodded in response and rose from his chair. 

He knew who “we” was when it was said in that tone. “We” would be Sugawara himself, the _so-honbucho_ , _saiko-komon_ Sawamura and the _oyabun_ Shimizu herself. He often met with them, not normally all three at once, but he was good at his job and they often had him do tasks they couldn’t trust to others. He followed Sugawara-san through the darkened corridors to Shimizu-sama’s main audience chamber. Most of the lights were still off, and the heat clung heavy in the air, sticking the cotton of his shirt to the small of his back. 

Shimizu-sama sat in her chair, looking resplendent in traditional dress with her dark hair piled up on her head. 

“Tsukishima-kun.” She greeted him, her eyes looking large through her glasses. 

He bowed in response. 

“We have a job we would like you to undertake.” It was Sawamura-san who spoke this time, standing stiff at the right hand of the Oyabun. He nodded again and Sawamura continued. “We have information that,” he paused, putting both emphasis and malice into the next words, “a _rival_ is attempting to encroach on our protected lands.”

Tsukishima nodded again, and looked to Sugawara-san who spoke next, from the left hand of Shimizu-sama.

“Aoba Josei. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They are far older than Karasuno-kai, but in the last few years they’ve dwindled in both numbers and power. It seems as if they’re resurfacing, and they’ve been in contact with a local bakery, making inquiries.”

Tsukishima’s eyes flashed at the word “bakery” but he didn’t respond verbally. Sawamura spoke up again. When they traded off speaking like this it wasn’t hard to believe they’d known each other most of their lives, even before their initiations, from what Tsukishima had heard.

“We’d like you to speak with the man at the bakery that appears to be their contact. We don’t need him hurt, but we do need him to understand the gravity of the situation. Remind him all that Karasuno-kai does for his community. Aoba Josei will not be allowed to make this move unopposed, and we will send that message however it takes.”

The words sounded like a dismissal and Tsukishima nodded, bowed, and turned to leave before Sugawara spoke up again. 

“Oh and Tsukishima, the baker’s name is Yamaguchi.”

_____

 

Tsukishima gathered his gear in silence, and only someone who knew him very well would have noticed the shaking of his hands as he loaded his gun. The Yamaguchi that Sugawara had mentioned could be no one but Yamaguchi Tadashi. He’d probably known it from the moment the word “bakery” was mentioned, though he didn’t want to admit that.

Yamaguchi was the boy, _man, now_ , he reminded himself, who had spent all of his time at Tsukishima’s side for almost their entire teenage years. He’d been one of the only people Tsukishima had ever let into his life, one of the only ones who had known him before he learned to hide his emotions. 

He hadn’t seen him since they were eighteen, and standing at his brother’s grave. Yamaguchi had been crying, as usual, he was always overly emotional, and Tsukishima had been holding his shoulders as they shook. 

“I’m going to get revenge.” Tsukishima had said, almost under his breath, into the hair at the back of Yamaguchi’s head where he rested his cheek.

Yamaguchi had looked up at him, with his big, guileless eyes and shook his head. 

“You can’t, Tsukki! They...they killed Akiteru! You can’t get involved!” Yamaguchi stuttered.

“I’ll do what I have to do.” Tsukishima had replied and Yamaguchi had punched him.

It was a weak punch, truly, Tsukishima had been in more than enough fights because of his smart mouth, so the sock in the jaw was nothing he couldn’t handle, but the look in Yamaguchi’s eyes almost put him on his knees.

“Tsukki. You can’t do that. You can’t join _them_.” The word was spit with more disdain than he ever had thought Yamaguchi capable of. “They killed him just as much as the man with the gun! He never should have gotten involved with them!” 

Tsukishima hadn’t been able to hold back the rage inside when he replied, and when he pushed Yamaguchi away from him the boy had fallen back on the wet grass.

“How the hell am I supposed to _get_ to the bastard who killed him without joining!?” He yelled. Yamaguchi didn’t answer, nor did he get off the ground. “You can’t tell me what to do, Yamaguchi! I’m going to join them and I’m going to find that bastard and I’m going to _kill him_ , with my bare hands if I have to. You can’t stop me!” 

The tears in Yamaguchi’s eyes made him want to stop, and as the boys shoulders shook all he wanted to do was hold him but he hadn’t, he’d walked away. And the next day he began the process of joining Karasuno-kai. 

He’d tried once, in a moment of weakness, six weeks after the scene in the cemetery, to contact Yamaguchi. He spent twenty minutes knocking at the door of his parents’ apartment before his mother answered and told him to leave, Tadashi wouldn’t see him, no she wouldn’t take him a message, goodbye Tsukishima-kun. And he hadn’t tried again.

Now he found himself walking down the sidewalk towards the Bakery that had been owned by Yamaguchi’s father, and now, presumably, belonged to Tadashi himself. His hands were sweating and he rubbed them on his slacks before he crossed the large display windows and entered the shop. 

He tried for inconspicuous, eying the racks of baked goods through the slant of his glasses, but a shuffling behind the counter drew his eyes and it was Yamaguchi.

He looked much the same: the unruly brown hair was longer, almost touching his shoulders, but the freckles on his nose were the same, his hands as they clenched tight on the counter looked the same, too, his slender fingers. 

“What are you doing here?” Yamaguchi snapped and Tsukishima almost took a step back, despite being more than 10 feet from the counter. That was different. That was not the soft spoken person he remembered. 

“Yamaguchi.” He began, after clearing his throat.

“Don’t say my name like we’re friends.” 

Tsukishima clenched his fists. He hadn’t had this much trouble controlling his emotions in the last few years. He wanted to run away, or run to Yamaguchi and make him forgive him. He didn’t know what he wanted.

“Okay. Sir.” He began again, “I’m here to discuss business you’ve been involved in. And to offer a counter proposal.” He tried to keep his voice even, unaffected, but he wasn’t certain he was managing it. 

“What do you mean?” Yamaguchi’s voice was still angry, but more controlled. 

“You’ve been meeting with a member of of a rival of ours. They are intending to get a foothold in this area. You have been providing them with information. You need to stop doing that.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sounded remarkably innocent, but Tsukishima realized he could no longer tell if it was genuine. There was a time when he thought it would be impossible for Yamaguchi to hate him, if that wasn’t true he didn’t think he could trust anything about his instincts now.

“The man’s name was Iwaizumi. He has been here four times.” Tsukishima offered the information that Sawamura had handed him before he left the compound. Iwaizumi Hajime, main enforcer for Aoba Josei, one of the most dangerous men in the prefecture. 

“Hajime? He’s not….” Yamaguchi’s voice trailed off. Tsukishima wondered at the familiarity. “You’re lying to me. Hajime isn’t one of _you_.” He spat the word like a curse. 

“I can guarantee you, this _Hajime_ ,” he said with distaste, “is very much one of _us_. He’s a very dangerous man, and he’ll get you killed if you aren’t careful.”

“You’re lying.” Yamaguchi repeated, but with less conviction this time, as if his mind was putting together a puzzle of clues that were slowly revealing the truth that Tsukishima presented. 

“I’ve never lied to you Yamaguchi. Never.” 

“Tsukki, I-” Yamaguchi’s voice was soft and Tsukishima could see tears at the edges of his eyes. _Always such a cry baby_ , he thought. 

“I have to go. Don’t speak to Iwaizumi again.” He said quickly and left the shop, only stopping his rushed pace when he was out of sight of the large windows. 

He was panting, his breath heavy in what he thought was exertion but he soon realized were sobs. Tears fogged his glasses and he removed them to wipe at his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. He refused to acknowledge that he was crying about Yamaguchi, crying for him, crying because of him and how much he’d missed him these last 5 years. 

He wiped his eyes and straightened up, smoothing the creases on his shirt and pulling his jacket into place. He had a report to give. He wouldn’t let himself get that emotional again. Not anymore.


	6. you can't win with her

“Are you feeling okay?” Daichi asked as he crawled into bed. Suga was usually quiet, but not quite as quiet as he had been that evening. 

“I’m fine. Just worried about Shimizu-sama.” He replied, pulling off his shirt and letting it fall to the floor. Daichi could just see his pale skin in the moonlight that shone through their window. He could see the criss crossing geometric patterns of the tattoos on his chest, the constellations that crept up his bicep, the waves that curled around his side from ribs to hip. 

“You know, she’s asked us to call her Kiyoko in private.” Daichi chided. Suga slipped into bed beside him and slid against his side. 

“I know.” He said against Daichi’s shoulder. “It just feels strange, how she’s two different people.” 

“It’s no different for any of us, you know that as well as anyone.” Daichi knew it, too. Here, in their private rooms, when the other members of Karasuno-kai were either asleep or in their own quarters, he could be himself. He could be the happy Sawamura Daichi who just wanted to snuggle his partner and smile. He didn’t have to hide his emotions. 

However, in the long, dimly lit audience chamber where he stood on the dais beside the Oyabun, it was different. He had to be strong, stern, and thoroughly unemotional. It didn’t matter how much the ceremonial yubitsume made his stomach clench and turn, he couldn’t show it. 

He brought Suga’s hand to his mouth and kissed gently at the shortened fingers. 

“You aren’t two different people, not like she is.” Suga answered, and turned his head to kiss the tattooed skin of Daichi’s shoulder. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” He said, sliding his arm around Suga’s shoulders. 

Suga sighed lightly. “You haven’t noticed she’s different than how she was back then? When we first met she was,” he paused, as if considering his words, “she was more human. More empathetic. Earlier with Hinata-kun she was frightening. Completely cold.”

Daichi shivered at the memory of earlier in the evening and hugged Suga closer. “It’s just a facade, though.” He replied. “I’m sure I looked cold as well, but you know how I feel about yubitsume ceremonies.” 

Suga shook his head and Daichi felt his hair brush against bare skin. “No, I could see it on your face, you were struggling. _God_ , anybody would be struggling in that situation. I almost had to look away.” 

“I did look away.” Daichi admitted.

“But she wasn’t.” He continued. “I’m worried about her.”

Daichi hummed in agreement and placed a kiss against Suga’s hair. Suga was right about one thing, a lot had changed since Shimizu had brought them in, not the least of which being the woman herself. 

 

The first night Kiyoko had walked into the warehouse where they ran their fight club the entire crowd went quiet. It hadn’t mattered that the men in the ring were still beating the shit out of each other, the crowd had turned to watch the elegant woman in her fitted black suit cross the room. The only sounds were the click of her heels against cement floors and the grunts and thick slap of flesh against flesh coming from the makeshift ring.

Her eyes were straight ahead, looking at no one but Suga, who stood beside Daichi in the back of the large room. The room was still silent when she reached them.

“Sugawara-san. I believe we have mutual interests that I’d like to speak to you about.” Her voice had been softer than Daichi expected, high of pitch and reminiscent of a school girl. The room was fairly dark, but from what he could see she looked to be about his age. 

She hadn’t acknowledged him at all, despite his presence at Suga’s side, but when Suga ushered all three of them to their office she hadn’t batted an eye. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Suga greeted her as she took a seat in a plush chair. Suga and Daichi sat beside each other on the small sofa. 

“We have not. But I’ve heard of you.” She smiled first at Suga and then at Daichi. “I’ve heard of both of you, Sawamura-san.” She ignored Suga’s implied question of her identity and sat back further into the chair. She crossed her legs. 

“What are these mutual interests you mentioned?” Suga asked, smiling politely back at her. 

Her smile was sharp now, cutting and dangerous. 

“Money, Sugawara-san, what else?”

They had met three times before they knew her name, and another two times before they agreed to join the organization. Daichi had been hesitant. Suga was made of sterner stuff than him, despite what most people thought, and he was prepared for what joining the Yakuza would mean. Daichi followed, because, really, there was nothing else he could do. 

Back then The Small Giant was Oyabun, and Shimizu his Saiko-komon. They learned the ropes quickly, rising through the ranks, and when The Small Giant had to step down and he appointed Shimizu to take his place, Daichi and Suga rose with her. 

That night, when Shimizu-sama offered Daichi, and then Suga, the sake from her cup, may have been the last time either one of them saw her truly smile. It had just taken this long for Daichi to realize that Suga was right. 

Three sharp raps on their bedroom door woke Daichi from his thoughts. He left Suga on the bed, pulling his arm gently from under the man's head, and grabbed a shirt that hung over the back of a chair. He didn't bother to button it. 

"Sawamura-san." The greeting came from chest level as he opened the door. In front of him stood Yachi, her sleeves were rolled and she had sweat on her forehead. 

"Yachi-san, what brings you here?" He moved to button the shirt over his chest. 

"Shimizu-sama." Yachi looked around nervously. "She received a message and now she won't stop screaming."

Less than 5 minutes later Daichi and Suga were both dressed and standing outside the large doors that opened onto the audience chamber. Azumane nodded quickly and opened the doors at their approach. They could hear the screaming before they got to her room. 

She was on the floor, a crumpled letter next to her knees, and she was screaming. Her hair was loose around her face, and her glasses were in her hands. 

Suga knelt in front of her and grasped her shoulders. 

"Kiyoko, what's happening? Talk to me." Suga's voice was urgent but calm and Daichi could see his thumbs stroking gently against her shoulders. She just shook her head but she did not scream again. 

Suga soothed her, pulling her as close as he could while they both were on their knees. She was sobbing now, loud ragged noises that Daichi had never heard from her. Wordlessly, Suga lifted the letter from the floor and held it back towards Daichi. He took it and held it but did not read it. 

“What happened?” He heard Suga ask again, softly, muffled by Kiyoko’s dark hair. Suddenly her hand was reaching to the floor, searching for the letter that wasn't there any longer. 

“Shimizu, I have the letter.” Daichi said and she looked over at him, blinking the tears from her eyes behind fogged up glasses.  
“You can, you can read it.” She said. He’d never heard her voice sound so small. 

Daichi looked at her questioningly, Suga’s head was still hooked over her shoulder, facing away, but she looked certain, so Daichi unfolded the letter. 

The paper looked expensive, like it would have been crisp if not for Kiyoko crumpling it, and the typeset was formal and clear. 

_Shimizu-sama,_

_Let me first congratulate you on running such a successful business. Believe me, I had my doubts at first. You, a woman, and so young, running a family as large and historic as Karasuno? I mean, to be fair, the years before you were less than spectacular._

_But I digress, let me introduce myself. My name is Kuroo Tetsurou, Oyabun of Nekoma-gumi and I believe we each have something the other wants. I send this letter as a courtesy, a friendly note informing you of what we could mutually provide for each other._

_You see, I have a guest, she’s been very helpful, and she’s got so much to say about you, Kiyoko-san. I believe you’re acquainted, Yui speaks so highly of you, after all._

_I’d like to meet with you, is sometime this week good? I’ll stop by, I believe Yui will be tied up, she’s got so much to do, so I’ll come, with a few of my friends, not too many, mind you. We can discuss things further in person._

_Yours truly,_

_Kuroo_

Other than the thinly veiled threats, Daichi didn’t understand most of the letter. It seemed this Kuroo was intent on negotiating something, or maybe taking it by force. The name struck him though, Yui, it must have been that name that upset Kiyoko. 

“Shimizu-sama. Who is Yui?” He asked and her sobs went silent. The only sounds in the room were now her ragged breath and Suga’s quiet shushes as he stroked her back. 

“Someone important- someone who _was_ important to me. It’s been…” She shook her head against Suga’s shoulder. “It’s been years.” 

Daichi nodded and folded the letter again, running his fingers along the creases. He wouldn’t pry, that wasn’t his job, but he would protect the Oyabun from any threat this Kuroo presented. Nekoma-gumi was a large syndicate, but they were headquartered in Tokyo, not the more rural Miyagi, if they came into Karasuno-kai’s home, they would be at a disadvantage. 

After a few minutes Kiyoko leaned back and gently pulled away from Suga. She wiped first her glasses, then her eyes. 

“Thank you, Suga-san, thank you both. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. You may leave.” She remained kneeling on the floor as Daichi helped Suga to his feet. They both bowed and left her quarters. 

They didn’t speak until their own door was safely closed again. Daichi removed his shirt, placing it back over the chair where it had been. He could just see the black spiraling lines across his chest in the dim bedside lamp. 

“Who do you think Yui is?” Daichi asked when Suga was undressed and pulling on a t-shirt to sleep in. 

“Someone she loves. Or Loved. There’s not much of a difference in the end, either way. Clearly she’s in danger.” 

Daichi nodded as they both slid into bed for the second time that night. As he wrapped his arms around Suga and nuzzled into his soft hair, he remembered a girl named Yui he knew once in middle school. She was feisty, and a good friend. It was sad that they’d lost touch after that. 

They fell into a comfortable sleep, they would deal with whatever was to come. They’d protect their family.


	7. Special was the meaning, of course

The normally routine business of Karasuno-kai was in upheaval. Hinata found himself basically forgotten in the midst of preparation for the arrival of the Nekoma emissaries. His hand was healing well, but he hadn’t been sent on any jobs since the one that put him on his knees in front of the Oyabun. If anyone was good at dealing with those particular types of wounds it was Ennoshita-san, he’d tended Sugawara-san after every one of his yubitsume rituals and he still had two functional hands, so Hinata wasn’t worried. He found himself walking around the compound like a ghost. Everyone around him had a job to do, and they were doing it. The building buzzed like a bee hive.

Kageyama wasn’t sleeping in his room anymore, they’d gone back to their separate quarters, but Hinata still saw him casting worried looks occasionally, before going back to whatever job he’d been assigned. He was starting to think he should feel lucky, getting to fully heal, to ease back into his job, but the only thing he felt was bored. He hated to spend too much time alone in his room, that only led to remembering his mistake. It wasn’t the pain from the yubitsume he remembered the most, it was the way his gun had gone off, it was the blood of the man he’d killed that was seared on the back of his eyelids like red curtains. 

“What the hell are you doing?” It was Kageyama who called from where he was standing vigil by the side of the Oyabun’s chambers. He had the guard duty often, and Hinata wondered if somehow he’d been implicated in Hinata’s own crime by association. Guard duty, while an honor, was mostly reserved to those too young or stupid to be on the streets. 

Hinata looked up from where he’d been standing against the wall and gave Kageyama a puzzled look. “What do you mean? I’m standing here.” He walked down the hallway so they wouldn’t have to yell. 

“I meant _why_ are you standing there, idiot. Don’t you have work to do? Nekoma will be here soon.” _Nekoma_. The name hung in the air as if speaking it would summon a demon. 

“No one’s told me what to do! Not for weeks! I’m bored.” Hinata whined. 

“Go back to your room and wait for orders then!” 

“You’re not my boss, I don’t have to listen to you.” 

“Just go! You’re just going to be in the way if you hang out here, just wait until you receive your next job.” 

Hinata made a disgruntled noise and crossed his arms over his chest. It was painful to admit that Kageyama was right. He’d just be in the way where he was, and he truly had nothing better to do than to sit in his room, despite how valiantly he’d been avoiding it. 

He decided to continue to avoid it, and left the compound out the back door. He didn’t plan on going far, no more than a few blocks, but he needed the space. The air was chilly but the sun was shining, and Hinata could feel the wind chapping his cheeks with every gust. 

He wanted to run, to feel the blood pumping through his veins until he was out of breath and staggering back to his futon, but he knew he couldn’t. Running too far would draw attention, and if anyone called for him he’d be too far away to respond in time, no, he contented himself with walking circles around the compound. At first he stuck to the walls, marveling how a building so large and flat could blend in on the outskirts of Sendai, how the gardens ran right up to the edges of the walls, how there were no boot prints or tire marks visible despite the very real amount of in and out traffic the building received. The next loop took him further out. He went down an alley, crossing a few empty storefronts and one or two residential buildings before circling back towards Karasuno-kai and going a different direction. 

On his third loop he encountered someone. It looked like a boy, he thought, sitting on one of the crates in the alley hunched over due to fatigue or possible injury, and Hinata sprinted to him. 

“Are you okay?!” He yelled, stopping to catch his own breath as he reached the boy. 

He wasn’t injured, at least not visibly, he was only hunched over to peer at the screen of a small handheld video game console. He acknowledged Hinata with a single upward glance before looking back down at the screen. 

“I’m fine.” He said. He shifted his hands so that he could hit most of the buttons with one and used his free hand to tuck a long blonde strand of hair behind his ear. 

Hinata only stared. The boy didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, or even to look away from his game, but Hinata was too intrigued to move. Why was this person here? Why were they playing video games in an abandoned alley near a Yakuza family headquarters, why didn’t he care that Hinata was standing there?

“Are you lost?” The boy asked, after another minute passed, marked only by the upbeat 8-bit battle music pumping from the tiny speakers in his hand. 

“No! I’m not lost I live…” He stopped himself. He did live nearby, but he didn’t need to tell this stranger, they might get the wrong idea. “Are you lost?” 

“Sort of.” The boy replied, still not looking up. 

“I can help! Where do you want to go?” Hinata watched as the boy tucked his hair back again, this time behind the other ear. 

He didn’t answer, but he pulled the leg that was tucked underneath him out so both were dangling above the asphalt. 

“I can just wait, Kuro will find me eventually.” 

Hinata wondered who Kuro was, if they were this boy’s friend, his nanny maybe? He looked young. 

“I’m Hinata, by the way. Hinata Shouyou.” He bowed his head slightly, though he noticed the boy still didn’t look up from his game. 

“Kenma.” He replied, after a few seconds. 

“O-oh, um, it’s nice to meet you, Kenma-san.” Hinata stood up on his toes, hesitant to move forward but curious about what game Kenma was playing. He hovered for a few seconds before Kenma shifted slightly, tilting the screen until Hinata could see the moving figures shift as he pressed the buttons. 

“You’re making a shadow.” Kenma said, still looking down at his game. 

“What? Oh!” Hinata jumped back, out from where he had been blocking the light and casting a shadow over Kenma. “Sorry!” 

“It’s fine.” Kenma replied without much thought, and Hinata eased forward again, this time next to Kenma’s side to better see the screen. 

They continued in silence, Kenma sitting and concentrated on his game, Hinata standing and holding back his dozens of questions. The next time Kenma shifted, leaning forward to get a better angle, and his hair slipped in his face Hinata caught it, putting it behind the boy’s ear the same way he had done himself before, allowing Kenma to keep both hands on the game. 

“Ah--- Kozuma-san!” The voice came from the end of the alley, and when Hinata looked up he saw a tall boy with spiked up hair looking bashful. “Kozume-san, Kuroo-sama is asking for you!”

Kenma looked up at that and raised his eyebrows. _Kuroo-sama?_ Hinata thought, _hadn’t he heard that name?_ “Okay.” Kenma said, hitting a button that made his screen go dark as he clambered down off of the crate. When he stood Hinata was almost surprised to see how much taller he was. He wasn’t as tall as the man at the end of the alley, but he was definitely taller than Hinata himself. 

“Come on, Shouyou.” Kenma said, gesturing to him, and Hinata followed, not quite knowing why. 

 

They were three quarters of the way back to the compound before Hinata realized that that’s where they were headed. They followed the tall boy, whose name ended up being Inuoka, and Kenma seldom looked up from the game in his hands. Hinata marveled at his multitasking skills because he hadn’t even tripped once. 

“Wahh, where are we going?” Hinata asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer now, there _had_ been a reason he recognized the name Kuroo, and that’s because it had been whispered around for weeks. 

“Karasuno-kai, aren’t you part of them?” Kenma replied. It didn’t really sound like a question, and he didn’t look up from his console. 

“Oh, um…” Hinata knew he wasn’t really supposed to admit it, but if they knew it anyways what was he supposed to do?

“Your hand.” Kenma said, and Hinata glanced down. He still had the bandage on, though he could move all his fingers. It still hurt, but not enough that he needed Ennoshita’s pills any longer. But now that he looked, it was obvious what the wound had been, at least to anyone who had seen it before. He looked at Kenma’s hands, they were unmarked. 

“Oh.” He just nodded. He hadn’t broken any rules, he hadn’t admitted his membership, but he still felt uneasy about the imbalanced nature of their relationship. Kenma seemed to guess everything about him in less than a minute, Hinata wasn’t as observant. 

Outside Karasuno-kai a man Hinata didn’t recognize leaned against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He looked scary, tall, with his white shirt stretched taut over thick biceps where tattoos could barely be seen through the fabric. 

“It’s about time, Inuoka, Kuroo-sama sent you out like twenty minutes ago!” The man barked and Inuoka bowed a little. 

“Sorry, Yamamoto-san.” 

“It was my fault, Taketora, don’t bother Sou.” Kenma said and a smile broke out across Yamamoto’s face. He wasn’t half as intimidating when he was smiling, Hinata noticed. 

“Alright, alright, just get inside then. And who’s this? You bringing in new recruits? This ain’t even our base!” 

“I live here!” Hinata said indignantly, standing up straight in an attempt to appear taller. 

“Calm down little fella,” Yamamoto laughed, and stepped aside to let them enter. Hinata wondered where their own guards were, and why someone from Nekoma would be watching the door. Hinata huffed, but opted to stay quiet, following Kenma inside while Inuoka stayed with Yamamoto. 

They walked towards the main hall, where Shimizu-sama held her court, not knowing which of them was truly leading, and when they reached the large white doors and the guards posted on either side Kageyama’s eyes widened. Azumane didn’t really react, though he looked a little confused at both of them. 

“I’ll--um, I’ll leave you here, I shouldn’t go in.” He wasn’t afraid to go in there, he told himself, it just wasn’t his place, he was hardly suited for guard duty, let alone trusted enough to enter the main chamber during some sort of negotiations. 

“Come on.” Kenma said, and pulled at Hinata’s sleeve. Kageyama took that signal and the strange amount of authority in Kenma’s voice as time to open the doors, and Hinata let Kenma pull him inside. 

 

“You came all the way here just to offer insult?!” It was Shimizu-sama’s voice, louder and more emotional than Hinata had ever heard it before. 

The response was a laugh, low and unfamiliar. “I wasn’t insulting--” 

“You kidnapped an innocent woman!” Shimizu snapped and the man, who Hinata could now see was tall and relatively thin, though with wider shoulders than Inuoka and black hair, closed his mouth in shock. 

The doors shut and the room went silent, suddenly noticing the newcomers in their midst. Kenma had yet to let go of Hinata’s sleeve, and Hinata trailed behind him like a naughty child as Kenma walked up the long center carpet. 

“Why’d you want me here, Kuro?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension that radiated from Shimizu-sama or the way that Suga-san’s hand was clenched around Sawamura-san’s arm, as if to hold him back. 

“Ah--Kenma…” Kuroo seemed to be at a loss for words, and he turned back to Shimizu-sama with a look of apprehension. 

Suga-san let go of Sawamura-san’s arm and stepped down off of the dias. 

“It seems to be in all of our best interest to change this meeting to somewhere more private after we all cool down.” He said, his voice calm, though the tension beneath it was evident. 

Shimizu-sama seemed to come out of a trance at his words, her normal cold expression covering the wild emotion she’d been displaying before. “That sounds like a good plan.” She said. “Kuroo, please feel free to take advantage of the hospitality of our home, and meet me in my conference room at five.” She stood, gathering her skirts around her, and walked through the back door to her private chambers. 

“Kuro, I’m hungry, can Shouyou eat with us?” Kenma asked, and Kuroo laughed, shockingly loud and boisterous in the somber room. 

“That him, then?” He replied, gesturing to Hinata, and Hinata nodded. “Alright, let’s see if this place has a kitchen.”


End file.
